Entangled

by Harleigh Beck

That’s the thing about grief—it alienates you from others. It’s a disease. Once it digs its claws into you, everyone else gives you a wide berth.

That’s the thing about grief, too—it doesn’t need conversation. It doesn’t speak in words. Its language is subtle, gentle even. Haunted eyes, a shared look, a weak smile. It is heavy sighs and wishing you could fill the silence but not having the strength to try. That’s me now, hunting for a subject to chase away our grief.

I’m shoved up against the wall, my breath knocked out of me, before I can say another word. With his hand wrapped around my throat, Grayson presses up against me. “You think that boy,” he spits, “can give you what you need? What you fucking crave?”

With her daddy issues, I knew she would have a daddy kink.

Oooooppp👀👀👀🤭🤭

“You’re Daddy’s good little slut, aren’t you?

I want to self-destruct and externalize this inner pain, this darkness that has its claws in me.

“You belong to me, Willow. Your smiles are mine, your body is mine, and your pussy is mine. Even your breaths belong to me.”

“You can breathe again after you’ve been a good girl and come on my cock.”

“Act like a whore, and I’ll fuck you like one.”

His words are meant to humiliate. If Daddy wants to play, I’ll set out the pieces on the board. Spreading my knees on the sticky floor, I fall forward on my hands. Gazing up at him from beneath my dark lashes, I purr, “What makes Daddy think I want to be fucked like a good girl?” I don’t miss the clenching of his fists. He’s trying to control himself. I don’t like control. “Come out to play, Daddy,” I purr, rocking on the floor and jutting my ass out. “Hurt me, Daddy, claim me. Fuck me like a slut.”

Ooouuu this girl playing with fiiireeeeee…. But.. he definitely started it *shrugs* oh well

I want to possess her, own every part of her until she doesn’t know where she begins and I end.

Everyone leaves.